Do you know how I know I am old as shit now? I love routine. I love being home early, sitting on the couch, reading and then going to bed at a reasonable hour. If I get less than seven hours of sleep, I am useless.
I realised this when a friend asked me out for dinner, last minute, the other week and I looked at my calendar and thought I can’t go out three nights this week, I will die. (Also, I actually use my calendar. How’s that for maturity?)
I remember the days when I could party every single night of the week, go home, sleep for a couple of hours (or less), shower and be fine at work. My weekend would start on Friday night, roll into the weekend around service, and I’d spend my Saturday night and Sunday bouncing from drinks to a house party, brunch, day drinking, night drinking and somehow, I’d be back at work at 9am on Monday feeling fresh and ready to cut anyone who got in my way. I felt unstoppable. My social battery was always fully charged. I had not yet experienced a real hangover. Three meals a day was for the weak.
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